


Love is a present, so open it happily

by Flowerbedgrl



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Schmoop, Somewhat canon-compliant, pre-ring quest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerbedgrl/pseuds/Flowerbedgrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On rediscoveries and new beginnings..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

It started in Spring, almost a dozen since The Adventure and two since anyone from the Outside had passed through Hobbiton, let alone through the round green door of Bag End (which Bilbo had taken great pains to have re-painted, twice, lest anymore dwarfish feet come along with more dragon related issues). Oh Bilbo grumped about the entire business aloud to himself, on long days when the rooms of his parents smial became too long and too empty, and to small ears who sat before him on his many visits to cousins, whose parents sat nearby and feared their children's wandering feet.

But the truth was that he missed it, not the threat of death by warg or troll-snot or more importantly, at the end of a long and very dark tunnel filled with sudden, white-hot flame. Not that. But the companionship. Travelling by pony or by foot with others who shared the same basic fears and trials, the sounds of quiet laughter in the deepest part of night, reassuringly free of the sounds screeching orcs or burning forest or giant spiders.. In short he was lonely.

 But Spring. It always brought with it the memories of better days, of hopeful songs and stories as hobbits from all across the eastern and northern regions of the Shire rolled through Hobbiton and Bywater on their way to Tookborough and Michael Delving, their carts laden with goods, from stone samples from Scary to books from the libraries and mathom houses of Buckland. The good folk of the two neighbouring towns would gather, like every Event since the formation of the Shire, and make a festival of the rolling markets with trestle tables heaving with freshly made cakes and plucked strawberries and free-flowing casks of ale.

 

***

 

Bilbo had wandered down early as the visting traders set up their rough and ready stalls to enjoy the smells from the bakery and (hopefully) avoid certain Bagginses who rarely roused themselves before elevenses unless a free meal or the promise of coin or silver cutlery were offered. He thought to himself, as he passed young Hamfast Gamgee and the fair Bell Goodchild, that this year's market was shaping up to be particularly superb when he caught a snippet of the young lovers conversation '- warf of all folk! And look here at this 'lil toy I picked up for my cousins young 'en. And he jus' gives it t' me!'. Bilbo turned on his heel, stepping up to the pair with a smile and a suddenly racing heart.

 'Why Master Gamgee, what a fine device you have there!' Hamfast turned and gave Bilbo a respectful nod, Bell bobbing beside him as he held the toy out for his employers inspection. It was a dragon (of course), all wooden with delicate scales inlaid with what, to Bilbo's knowlegable eye, looked suspiciously like Mithril. A small string joined the tail to the body that when pulled moved the wings to flap as if in flight.

 'He jus' gave it to me Mister Bilbo, I ain't done wrong with acceptin' have I?' Poor Hamfast was pale with the thought of disapproval, and Bilbo was quick to reassure the pair with a warm smile.

 'Of course not lad! It is a fine gift that I'm sure will be greatly enjoyed. Tell me which stand was this you spoke of?' Bilbo was too excited to be embarassed that he'd just outed himself at eaves-dropping, and it seemed Hamfast was too relived to have been let off for commiting his imagined offence, for he pointed to the Bywater bridge with instructions to find the trader just beside The Green Dragon. The subject of the prescence of any dwarves seemed temporarily forgotten.

 With a hasty bow and goodbye Bilbo turned for the bridge, his speed increasing until he was fair puffing along the straw strewn lane! There appeared to be quite some crowd around the inn- which was saying something considering it was the largest structure in the area apart from Bag End. And none of those gathered had a tankard between them- instead all very interested in the overlarge cart parked at the inns side, a pair of sturdy bulls tethered nearby. Bilbo skidded at the rear of this huddle, bouncing on his toes to see over the tops of gaffers and young mothers and their tots, only to be disappointed with no sign the taller dwarves. The crowd seemed to show no signs of parting from this spectacle anytime soon so Bilbo backed away.

  _Stupid fool_ he told himself with a grimace. Even if it had been dwarves, it was unlikely to be any from Erebor. Certainly none would travel so far to stop at a hobbit village, they would likely pass straight through to the Blue Mountains beyond, with no concern or interest in this land without any real stone or jewel. Certainly none would be carrying shipments of toys to give away. What _had_ he been imagining he would find? Certainly not a be-hatted fellow. With perky braids, warm smile, eyes.. _Stop it._

 He moved back towards Hobbiton, his enthusiasm for festivities spent. It was just as well, this sort of thing would likely draw Lobelia out of her hole much sooner then a great many would like. He smiled wryly, the thought that the crowd outside the 'Dragon would soon flee her path as if she were a Great Wyrm fleetingly amusing.

 

***

 

His run and the growing heat of the day had quite worn him out as he made his way along Bagshot Row. He could hear Hamfast and Bell in the garden of no. three, clearly at some task or another and just as clearly enjoying each others company. It had been so very long since Bilbo himself had felt a connection that those two had. It had been some time since he had craved that kind of companionship and focus.. But he wasn't badly off for the friendship of others all things considered, though he sometimes dispaired at Drogo's attitude- he was turning into such a, such a _Baggins._ His steps slowed further as he reached the crest, his nice green door was barely in sight and already he could hear a voice, low and lilting from where he stood. He didn't really want to be dealing with uninvited guests, he might be feeling a bit cheerless but he would negotiate that on his own terms! Besides if it was one of his scavenging relatives..

 Renewed determination saw him charging up the hill, through his gate and up the steps without even stopping to look at his would-be “guest”.

 'No thank you, I don't need any rakes, hoes, books or any will's or deeds re-written today so if you'd kindly-'

 'Well that's even less charming then my last visit to your fine home! Though at least this time I ain't the loadstone to a pile of me kin this time'. Bilbo stopped and rocked back on his heels, mouth open like he'd just encountered a wall of glass, the other side of which sat an leather and fur fitted dwarf, great boots parked on an upturned (and thankfully empty) plant pot, smoking at his own leisure. Bilbo's mouth opened and closed like the guppies a faunt might catch in the river, before launching himself at the seated figure with what sounded disturbingly like a laugh and a sob rolled into one very un-hobbit like cry. Bofur only just stood and braced himself for the attack, his delighted cackle echoing down the hill to number three, where the courting couple shared a look of surprise, before dopey smiles returned.

 

***

 

'-and before we knew it he'd grown so heavy he was leaving great big boot prints in the Wack-e-stone! He's already got four poor 'lil buggers carting 'im round, and he's only a-hundred and six! Bifur and I despair at this point, he can't be left alone in Erebors kitchens so I came and Bifur stayed to mind 'im. Oh ta, I've been gasping since we arrived, though that young 'en at your inn there didn't seem to keen to open the doors.' Bilbo grinned (he hadn't stopped since he'd detatched himself, reluctently, from his friends arms), setting the largest tankard he owned before the dwarf. Not five minutes through Bag End's door and Bofur had breezed through his brother Bomburs health and welfare, but hadn't really explained his own prescence or even delivering news of himself. Bilbo found it most un-satisfactory and tried to steer the conversation in his favour.

 'But surely you can't mean to be stopping here in the Shire?' Bofur's head snapped up from the plate before him, a flash of hurt across his face disappearing into an easy smile. Bilbo shook his head, confounding his own tongue and reached forward to slide his smaller hand over his companions wrist to stall any response the dwarf could make up. 'I didn't mean it like that, truly. I cannot begin to tell you how, how _pleased_ I am to see you,' he met Bofurs gaze evenly, trying to drive the subtext of his words home, 'I just can't belive you're actually here! I had thought everyone had forgotten about me after Balins visit, I've not heard from any of you.'.

 'Ah well, it's not easy getting over the mountain passes when we did, there were more of us and they have gone on ahead with trade and supplies an' the like to Belegost. But with the skills of Dale and the Mountain now growin' at such a pace ole Dain and King Bard felt that we could afford a lil detour? Pick up some trade p'raps?' Bofur smiled, genuine this time, turning his hand to clasp at Bilbo's warm fingers with his own. The hobbit glanced down at this and felt the tips of his ears grow warm with the silly smile playing around his lips. 'I've-a-'bin thinking about you, the closer we got to Staddle and Bree. By the time we'd reached The Prancin' Pony the rest of my party had threatened to knock me out with my own mattock I was so keen to get here!'

 Bilbo sighed and stood up to get another plate of scones for them. 'And here I give you the most un-welcoming welcome in Shire history. Destined to repeat myself I suppose.' He turned and deposited the baked goods on the table, but didn't sit back down instead leaning against the counter opposite. 'Bofur, I- our parting, heh if you can call such a thing a parting-'

 'Hey now,' Bofurs chair scraped back along the wood, causing Bilbo to wince at the potential damage of his nice, poli- a hand slipped along his jaw, tilting his face upwards gently. 'I understand. I've always understood you Bilbo, and it is to me shame that I never made my feelings about you clear in Lake Town, when we had the chance. Nor after The Battle, after we'd laid poor Thorin and the lads to rest. I've let so many chances slip me by and not a single one of them was your fault, you were always the best o' me- better then me even.'

 That also was unacceptable. Bilbo's eyes filled angrily. Anger at those lost chances that _neither_ of them were to blame for. The distance between them, even the nameless fellows of Bofurs that had delayed this reunion by another week. 'I think we've both been very silly, love.' His fingers reached for and tightened in the furred hem of the dwarfs jerkin, pulling him down and forward and he pushed himself up on the tips of his toes once more. The kiss (had they really been waiting almost a decade for this?) was strange, tickly and made Bilbo smile against Bofurs mouth. A puff of air from the dwarfs nose across his cheek reflected his amusement before opening up to him warm and sweet and heady from the ale. They pulled apart reluctently, smiling at each other abashedly until Bilbo pulled one of the larger hands between his own. He didn't say anything as he tugged on the others arm, moving slowly with purpose past the laden table and its cooling food and warming ale, down the hall to the master bedroom and very carefully and with a determined _snick_ closing the door too behind them.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor dramas and good-byes.

'Must you go, so soon?' Bilbo leaned up on his elbow, so that he could see his bedmate's face. He and Bofur had spent much of his visit here in this room, making up for the lost time between them. And it hadn't been all about soft touches and the press of hands and lips against flesh. It was easier, here in the warm darkness under the earth, where they both felt so much more comfortable, to say what needed to be said no matter how twisted their tongues became. Speaking of late nights around campfires speaking of home, of cozy fireplaces and rolling fields. Of nieces and nephews and cool caves lit with torchlight cast back amoungst thousands of white gems, like the stars in the sky. Bilbo learnt of the dwarvish practice of loving One person, never finding another even if that love was not returned. The fear, held deep and fast that it was to be a lifetime of pining of longing as endless and cold as the mountain. And then an opening on the next convey to Ered Luin became available and Bofur just _had to know._

 

Bofur murmered softly and rolled toward the warmth of Bilbo's body, curling up in the nest of feather pillows and soft sheets the likes of which he couldn't find at home, for all that he loved it. Bilbo smiled and pressed soft kisses to the unbraided tangle of hair upon Bofur's head. He had been amazed at the softness of the dwarfs hair between his fingers as he'd curled his hands through it, tugged on it, and delighted by the weave of grey he'd found the morning after even as Bofur had marveled at the lack of any such change in the hobbits own curls.

 

'Aye,' Bofur pressed the soft words into the softness found in the hollow of the halflings throat, 'the journey back would be too dangerous alone, for all the Beornings have kept the High Pass open there are still wargs and other nasty creatures and folk who'll gladly have a pop at a caravan travelling through. And me kin will be here within the week, a fine sight we'll make tramping through your shire what with all those who will be making their first journey to Erebor in nigh a-hundred years!'

 

'Well,' Bilbo started, forcing a more genuine smile upon his lips and the words past the lump in his throat, 'do be sure to pass through Harbottle on your way, my own family would be most excited to see such group.' Bofur grinned into the skin of Bilbo's collarbone, promising that he would try to stop by and clearly not suspecting any ulterior motive in the request.

 

A loud knocking on the door interrupeted any further activities Bofur might have considered and had Bilbo cursing as he hastened himself into a shirt and pair of trousers. What a sight he would make, but the rapping on his door became most insistent so he hurried away from his bedroom leaving a cackling dwarf in his nice warm bed. By the time he reached the entrance hall the knocking had turned into bell ringing and a loud voice calling for him, sounding most distressed. Of course it also gave away the visitors identity and Bilbo huffed as he pulled the door open to the cold light of day.

 

'Oh Bilbo! Thank goodness you're in, I have terrible news!' Drogo leaned against the door, wheezing as if he had run the entire way from Overhill. Bilbo rolled his eyes at his young cousin, waving him through to the parlour and automatically extending the offer of tea, or at least a cool glass of water at the sight of the younger hobbits rather lurid complexion. 'No. No thank you cousin, this is far too urgent for such trivialities- wait is that a muffin? You don't mind do you?'

 

Bilbo feared for his eyes as he let them roll again at Drogo's single minded focus on a plate of baked goods, but turned to settle himself in his armchair all the same. It was so bothersome being the head of the family at times. His belly now slightly less empty then before, Drogo began to lay bare his woes.

 

'It's terrible, you cannot imagine what mother and father want from me. It's simply unthinkable!'

 

'Well I would rather like to hear what it is- I haven't spoken to Fosco since Dora's birthday last month.' Drogo sat forward, head in his hands and moaning like he'd received a physical blow. Bilbo grunted and folded his arms, humour rapidly diminishing at the time he was wasting and the thought of Bofur lying naked in the other room, probably wondering what all the commotion was about. Eventually Drogo looked up, his eyes red as if he were about to burst into tears.

'They want me to marry! They have been corresponding with the girls parents _in Buckland of all places!_ '

 

If Drogo had been about to burst into tears it was nothing on what Bilbo's expression surely looked like. He was just about through forcing down his laughter when stomping feet broke the silence. Drogo twisted in his seat, jaw dropping at the sight of half dressed dwarf, before his head snapped around to take in Bilbos blushing face and own state of undress. At least Bofur had had the prescence of mind to but on his boots, laces trailing behind him.

 

'Oh cousin I- I'm so sorry to disturb, I-' Drogo's stuttering, endearing no longer at the age of thirty-seven, continued as Bilbo jumped from his chair and grabbed him from his own.

 

'Now now, it's no bother but perhaps you could come back at tea-time? Or supper, yes suppernowgoodbye!' He slammed the door to on the others jittering apologys and turned on the dwarf stalking him down the hall.

 

'To think, all tha' fuss over a lass.' Bofur leaned down, palms flat on either side of his hobbits head as he pressed a kiss against indignant lips. A low moan echoed in the sudden silence of the hole, and Bilbo broke away flushing anew.

 

'This'll be all over the farthing by lunch.' He bemoaned as Bofur knelt before him, working the buttons loose on his trousers. It didn't take more then a few nips and licks before a lower, more animalitsic noise carried to the far side of the green door, joined quickly by the sound of feet hitting the gravel path in haste.

 

***

 

It was little over a week more they spent together. Early on the eleventh day there came a deep rumble from the north road that drew every hobbit along the way from a deep slumber, including Bilbo. He sat in bed for a few disorienting moments wondering what had woken him, the other side of the bed was empty but not cold and Bofur stood by the window, arms folded on the sill in little more then an old nightshirt of Bilbo's and his thick woollen socks.

 

Bilbo swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering as they touched the cold wooden floor the rug didn't quite cover. He quickly pulled on his beloved patchwork robe and stepped up behind Bofur wrapping as much as he could around his sturdy frame and hooking his chin on a wide shoulder. The bottom of the hill was alight with many lamps, hundreds if not more, stretching all the way into the distance along The Water. It was clear the rumble came from wagons- wagons of every size and kind. It seemed to Bilbo, standing there hardly daring to breathe at the sight, that every dwarf alive seemed intent on moving through Hobbiton. Bofur shifted, turning in the halflings arms to wrap his own around small hips.

 

'I have t' go, the others will be ready within the hour.' He pushed his face into Bilbo's curls, inhaling deeply before speaking with a rumble, 'I'll be back. A year at most my love, back again for the spring with the memory of strawberries and cake and sun and you leading me.' He moved so that they stood nose to nose, their breath misting up between them. They stayed like that, motionless for long moments before Bofur forced himself into motion. Bilbo slipped in to the pantry, pulling cheese and apples and scones out, along with some Old Toby and wrapping it in some squares of linen for use when travelling. A neat package ready for the road however far it be.

 

Bofur was ready by the door when Bilbo found the courage to join him. The dwarf took the parcel with a grateful if melencholy smile, tucking it in to his pack and pulling out his old hat. Bilbo plucked it from his hands, thumbs rubbing through the thick, nubby fur before spinning it to face the right way. Bofur grinned and gave him a low bow, allowing his smaller lover to place it reverently on his head, a firm tug on its “ears” to settle it in place. He let his hands slide across warm cheeks as Bofur straightened before reaching for his neatly braided hair, tugging him gently closer for a warm kiss. They broke apart too soon, there were voices- many of them, rolling up to the smial from the bottom of the hill, reaching deep into the earth to call their brother away. Bofur turned and hefted his pack and his mattock comfortably onto his back and into his arms. There was little to be said, only done. Bilbo stood on his porch smiling, and crying too, a little, as Bofur turned with a final wave to join the procession.

 

He watched as the great convoy passed, as the sun came up and only when the 'Row began to stir with the cockcrow did he turn and disappear into the darkness of Bag End.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, never quite sure what to write on these things. Thanks to those who commented or gave kudos! You're very kind :)
> 
> To be honest this probably is going to turn out a bit bitty- I don't seem to be able to write anything but snapshots, and even that's not easy.
> 
> I seem to have dug up almost every Tolkien book I own to try and get my head around names and dates and the general geography of the Shire. Doesn't help me correct my grammer or spelling though so all mistakes are mine. And my high school english teachers who told me to use a comma wherever you would pause when talking.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakey wakey open your eyes,
> 
> Today is the best day in both our lives.

**My Dearest Bilbo...**

_It's dark, mountains looming large and opressive above thick, tall gorse making it difficult to climb up the steep side of the rise. There is a sound beyond, stirring memories of fearsome drumming in deep caverns and the sharp, sour scent of burning flesh and wood. A glow like the sun rising grows clearer as he crests the hill panting and gasping in pain at the stinging cuts to his face and hands. The sights and sounds are clearer now, and all the more terrible for it- animal carcasses torched to almost a cinder being torn apart by grey, wart riddled hands. The drumming is just as remembered and no longer the stuff of nightmares, a rising screech in counterpoint to the rapid beat and stomping of a thousand feet._

 

_The Great River runs red with..._

 

_no_

 

***

 

Bilbo isn't entirely certain what rouses him. His heart is hammering and his brow is beaded with sweat though his room is quite comfortably warm. He jumps a little at the sound feet rushing hither and thither beyond his door and there is a quiet, but insistent knocking upon the wood itself. He pulls himself from the bed, a heavy langour settling over him as he pulls on his robe and answers the door. 

 

The sight on the other side does a little to raise his spirits though and he pulls on a warm smile for young Primula, who has come bearing a tray of tea and toast and a pot of jam no less!

 

'Oh Bilbo, still abed at this hour?' She breezes into the room, all sunshine and smiles and settles the tray upon the small beside table before turning to pull the curtains wide open. 'You've been all out of sorts since that letter arrived yesterday, is anything the matter?' She turned, with a sly smile. 'It's not you're dwarf friend is it? He's not been by for some time now has he?'

 

_**.. These past months have been hard, being so far away from you and your fair country. A necessary precaution, for large parties of Orcs and goblin-scum have been on the march, south towards the lands of the Horse Riders, though trade has been unaffected...** _

 

'No, no he hasn't.' Bilbo sighed, slumping down on the feather matress, confused by his lingering weariness and worried for Bofur's safety- not at all lifted by the travel worn letter delivered by a shaking young Shirriff who'd rushed into Brandy Hall with it the previous eve (frightened and in awe of the Big Man who had “brazenly” walked up to the Buckland Gate to deliver it to a Master Baggins of The Hill). He sat nibbling on a corner of toast and playing with the gold band hidden upon its chain beneath his night shirt as Primula hurried to and fro about the room, pulling out Bilbo's best waistcoat and cravat, humming prettily as she went. 

 

_**The challenge of getting this letter beyond the mountain has been just as great as if I had made the journey meself, and no small amount of thanks to Nori and Ori's aid. And an elf lad who goes by the name of “Greenleaf”- strange to my mind but he's a good enough sort, though brusque.** _

 

It was to Bilbo's, and no doubt Fosco's, everlasting relief (and frankly _amazement_ ) when two years previous, at the annual Spring Fling, upon their introduction Drogo had blushed and stuttered at the beauty of the hobbit-lass before him before Primula had taken him firmly by the hand for the ring dance. The lad had been in a daze for the rest of the evening, a cloying sickly-sweet smile on his face and constantly at Primula's side, though she at least had enough dignity for the pair of them and simply smiled beatifically at anyone complimenting the couple.

 

_**Great news I impart- King Dain is to have an heir! It was a hard time for Lady Dis, coming back home to nought but the broken swords and cold tombs of her brother and sons, though she saw the regard the King (her cousin) had for her, and after a suitable period of mourning, proceeded to court our Lord. The babe is expected before the harvest, and preperations for the happy event are already underway.** _

 

_**And Bombur has just sired his fourteenth son, an incredible feat considering his near-constant entourage of heavy lifters! I never dreamed I would be surrounded by so many dwarrows- though Bifur and I hope this is not an indication of his future girth!** _

 

_**All this leaves me longing for your hearth, your company, as well as your bed. I've missed our talks long into the night, smoking a pipe with you in the your beautiful garden and the feel of warm grass betwixt me toes..** _

 

_**I miss you..** _

 

And now this day they were to be wed! And there was Bilbo just sat about worrying about nought that he could change. And though he would very much wish his beloved here beside him, well, it was enough to be surrounded by such wonderful people, proud as he was to say that he was related to them. He quickly stood and gently took the crisp white linen shirt from the young lady's hands, laying it out so that it wouldn't become creased before turning back and clasping her wrists softly. 

 

'My dear Primula, you are the most gracious lass in the Shire. And to be married before tea-time! What on earth are you doing with this grumpy old hobbit?' He moved her towards the still open door, pausing as yet more fauntlings rushed past like a pack of over-large rabbits. 'What an earth-'

 

A high, childish shouting could be heard, and Bilbo reached for his side- for Sting, though he had left it tucked away in a chest at home. He pulled Primula behind him and peered out just as Drogo came rushing around the corner. Primula gave a small yelp behind her cousin, pushing the door closed and almost squashing Bilbo between it and the jamb. 'Drogo! It's bad luck to see me before we wed!'

 

'I know love,' he puffed, pulling back and turning to face the opposite wall. 'but 'tis Bilbo I came for- old Broadbelt hisself is having a mighty fine fit. Your dwarf! He's just bounded up to the front door, all dressed in metal and leather and with three of his fellows!' Drogo had barely finished before Bilbo dived back into the room, shedding robe and nightshirt (with another yelp from Primula) and pulling on his travel clothes left on his pack from the day before. All this in less then a minute before he was pushing past the happy-to-be couple, and hot footing it down the hall to the front door, where Gorbadoc was indeed standing fit to burst and shouting for Master Baggins.

 

'I'm here, I'm here no need to bust the buttons on that fine waistco-' Before him, standing beyond the portal in the sunshine, stood four heavily armed dwarves. Four heavily armed, tired and not a little gory, familliar dwarves. Bilbo let out a very un-gentlemanly noise and, to the shock of the many onlookers, threw himself at one of the blood encrusted creatures. 'Oh my! What-no, how are you here? You're letter..' He pulled himself away just enough to peer up at Bofur's dirty yet beloved face.

 

'Oh tha'. It came then?' He was smiling, and completely unconcerned with either his appearance or his _appearance._ Bilbo thumped him on the shoulder, glaring. 

 

'Yes that. I only just got it yesterday! What about the Orcs and whatnot?'

 

'Oh them. Met some, introduced 'em to me mattock. 'Course I had some help.' he twisted to look behind them, and Bilbo let out another yell as he rushed to embrace Bifur, Nori and young Ori, all of whom equally armoured and bloody but Bilbo found, for the first time in a long time, that he didn't mind in the slightest.

 

***

 

It took no small amount of scrubbing to meet Gorbadoc's standards to enter the warren of a smial. But once clean and presentable he found his mood much improved, especially when Nori pulled from his pack carefully wrapped, a very fine crystalline bowl. Small by dwarf standards Gorbadoc's wife Mirabella quickly claimed it as the perfect centrepiece to the head table, where the newly-weds would soon be seated to receive toasts to their health.

 

To Bilbo's delight, Primula seemed utterly delighted by the dwarves. Especially by Ori, who upon learning that it was the pretty lass's wedding day, immediately pulled parchment and ink out of his own gear and set about preparing to capture the moment of union for prosperity. Nori and Bifur were settled amid the beer and food tents (with many thanks heaped upon by them to various Brandybucks and Bagginses, who merely sought to keep these guests of Bilbo's away from the main festivities), whilst Bofur was dragged, to his bemusement, from room to room by Bilbo in a desperate last minute bid to find some suitable attire. 

 

'I'll want you up front with me of course.' Bilbo chirped happily, trying to pull a fine, spare brocade vest of Adalgrim Took's across the dwarfs broader chest. He looked up when he was finally done, to find Bofur's gaze wistful and more then a little wet. He paused, hands resting against the silky smooth fabric, before pushing up on his toes to place a soft kiss on his beloved's lips. He had quite forgotten how much the action tickled, but soon became lost in the sensation of a warm, wet mouth. They were so engrossed they didn't notice the door to the hobbits room open, or the vexed groan that followed. They did pull apart with a wet _pop_ at the door slamming to again, and Drogo's strained voice from beyond, telling them to hurry along _some of us have a wedding to attend old fellow._

 

Smiling at the sight before him, Bilbo tugged the dwarfs hand until they were outside in the ornamental orchard and standing at the front of the party of witnesses. A small band struck up a cheerful, if evenly paced tune. Drogo was stood beside his cousin and Primulas brother Rory, practically vibrating with excitement as the bride herself was led down the aisle by her father. 

 

The magistrate from Michael Delving was well spoken, and a bit of a rarity- for he seemed genuinely pleased for the couple. It was mere moments it seemed before the vows were voiced and the marriage officially sanctified and sealed (with the requisite seven signitures in red ink), when a loud cheer rose from the back. Nori and Bifur, it seemed, had escaped the caterers clutches, and were toasting the happy couple's health whilst covering several of the guests (including _poor_ Otho and Lobelia) with sloppy abandon in Gorbadoc's best ale. 

 

But dwarven drunken shennanigans notwithstanding, Primula and Drogo were alight with happiness. Not even their siblings mortifying speeches could dampen their glow. They took to the dance floor, twirling each other gently beneath the happy gaze of their families and guests the stars.

 

And if anyone noticed one hobbit and four dwarves taking aside the magistrate for a private ceremony of their own, well, most were already too into their cups to speak of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was a bit of a bugger to write. Not sure how the authors of those epic-long stories do it!
> 
> Again, all grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are mine but the line in the chapter summary belongs to Craig Astley's 'A Groom's Thoughts' which I rather liked so I borrowed.
> 
> I'm trying to keep an even balance between book and film characters, so I hope I haven't butchered them too much!


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three snap-shots.

The sun is setting by the time they made camp just outside of Whitfurrows, throwing great splashes of purple and pink across the sky with a brilliant white catching the wispy, streaking clouds racing each other to the horizon on the slight autumnal breeze. It is a glorious Shire evening, even for the time of year, and neither Bilbo nor Bofur saw any reason to signal their prescence to other travellers with a fire, deciding instead that blankets and body heat were far more effective against the cold anyway.

 

Along with Bofur's hat of course.

 

In a hollow beneath a sprawling oak tree, where the earth has fallen away from deep roots, Bilbo huddled up against the dwarfs bare chest. That years visit had been something of a special occasion, for not only had Bofur been granted extra leave from the mines by King Dain, but it had also been the couples third anniversary.

 

Bilbo had hummed and hawed over the gift that he would give the dwarf, realising that anything fancy would be of little use to his beloved- even if he was now Deputy Head Foreman (a _very_ important position in Erebor he had been assured).

 

But after much contemplation he had decided to stick with hobbit tradition in this instance. He made a visit to a tanner and leather-worker in Tookborough and, after much haggling, eventually come away with a pair of sturdy and supple suede gloves, lined with the softest and warmest wool in Eriador.

 

And it even matched Bofur's hat.

 

Tomorrow they would part, with many a goodbye kiss and promises of longer and more frequent visits. But for now there was warmth and company and later skin and heat of a thoroughly different sort. If only Bofur could be persuaded to take the gloves _off_ for a bit.

 

After all it was hard to do _that_ with fingers stuffed in gloves, even gloves as supple as these.

 

***

 

It was Drogo, of all people, who had pointed out Bilbo's oversight. However unintentionally.

 

'-and blow me down they'd locked the doors! Of course old Gorbadoc could be excused, what with his age an' all. But Prim had made it quite clear that we would be spending the weekend up-river with friends, but that I would be returning early. _Without the key_. I mean, you wouldn't leave your Mister Bofur out in the freezing cold would you? All the while able to hear every toast made within Brandy Hall, smell every roasted meat and vegetable wafting underneath the door..' Bilbo's attention wavered slightly as Drogo went on another tangent, his mind fixed on the small wooden box on his beside table.

 

Later, after his cousin left to irrit- _look in on-_ his sister and brother, he sat down upon the soft matress and pulled the little chest onto the bed beside him. He ran his fingers over the carved flowers that ran across the smooth, polished surface before morphing into a delicate relief of a hummingbird sipping at the imaginary nectar.

 

Inside, wrapped in a small square of silk with _B.B._ embroided in blue at the corner, was a long solid brass key with a spur-like blade at the end. Really it wasn't any different from the one young Hamfast used as gardener and caretaker, or the one Bilbo set in his pocket everytime he left the hole for market of a morning. In fact it was the exact same, minus the frayed and faded brocade ribbon wrapped around its handle.

 

This had been Belladonna's key.

 

He had never meant to keep it hidden so, wrapped in one of his father Bungo's old handkerchiefs. But he had loved her so. Both of them had died far too early, his father just three years after Bilbo had reached majority and his beautiful mother less than a decade later. She had been ill for some time, though not of any ailment any doctor could find or treat. She simply seemed to sicken, a little more each day, until she was no longer the hobbit-lass the great wizard Gandalf seemed to remember so fondly (during his all too infrequent visits these days). It had meant nearly ten years of worry and self-enforced solitude looking after her, until even now Bilbo could never entirely let her go.

 

But that had been Before. Before adventures and trolls. Before mountains and battles and the deaths of a King-in-waiting and two foolish boys, who should now be happily settled down with their wives and their work, with hearth and home and a gaggle of children playing at their feet.

 

His fingers tightened around the key involuntarily, before he set about loosening the ribbon with shaking but determined fingers.

 

It was high-time he moved on. Past the memories of sickness and fire. Of goblins and last words with dying friends. After all this key had someone it could belong to now, someone who was the antithesis of worry and woe. Someone who loved, and had agreed to be joined for life to a foolish and overly sentimental old hobbit.

 

And it wouldn't do to leave someone like that outside on the doorstep.

 

***

 

There would not be a single Man, hobbit or dwarf that could resist the charms of young Frodo Baggins. The latter proved true, the day Bilbo introduced Bofur to his first cousin once-removed ('On my mothers side').

 

Indeed it was quite strange to see the perky little chap in Bofur's hands, for while he was quite used to dwarflings, hobbit babes seemed really very fragile.

 

'He's three cousin Bofur.' Primula said, laughing lightly as her son began scaling the great dwarfs torso by grabbing enthusiastically at his braids. 'He is by no means fragile! He's a little terror actually- gets into to everything, including a closed pantry.' Bofur grunted a little at the tugging and quickly settled in Bilbo's armchair so as to give the boy purchase on his lap. Frodo and his parents had spent the last several days making the rounds to various relations in the area, and were now in need of some rest before their trip back to Buckland. It had been Bofur's idea to have the child stay with himself and Bilbo at Bag End while his parents walked over to the Green Dragon in Bywater for some non-familial, non-toddler speak conversation.

 

'It would do Bilbo good to have some time with him.' Primula sighed, wiping a smidgen of dirt off of Frodo's nose. The faunt giggled and grabbed at Bofur's earring next, eliciting a very un-manly yelp. She leaned down to kiss Frodo's curls, before turning to catch the dwarfs cheek. Her own were quite pink as she stood up, giving the pair a small bob of thanks and moving to the front door, where both her husband and cousin were partaking in a last minute smoke, away from sensitive little noses.

 

Bilbo gave them both a merry wave and turned to close the green door to behind him. He paused at the entryway as a high pitched giggle danced through the arch of the parlor, swiftly followed by a shriek and a yell. He skidded into the other room, almost losing his footing on the edge of the rug, only to be greeted by the sight of his one true love tossing the little boy into the air from his seat! Higher and higher Frodo flew- until he was almost touching the ceiling. Bofur then stood suddenly and, with the great skill shown at a party _so_ many years before, grabbed the child out of the air, swooping him around into a low arc before settling him on his shoulders much to the child's delight.

 

When they'd finally finished their antics it was to find Bilbo leaning, quite weak with fright and clutching his chest, eyes wide and staring as he leaned against the wall for support. Bofur pulled the ever watching babe off of his shoulders and set him in the chair before turning, with an expression of great concern to the older hobbit. All this Frodo immediately took to mean freedom, as he scrambled out of the plush seat, making a beeline for the kitchen.

 

Bofur didn't notice this, moving instead towards his lover, hands held out placatingly. A small but firm hand landed on Bofur's chest as soon as he was within reach, keeping the other literally at arms length.

 

'Aww now love- t'was just a bit 'o fun! He wanted to fly like an Eagle in your stories.' Bofur was immediately quietened with a piercing glare amidst a very red face.

 

It was quite something to see a dwarf afraid for his life, as it didn't happen often- even in battle.

 

But then, not many dwarves had ever had to answer to the fury of an overprotective Baggins either.

 

'HE IS NOT A DINNERPLATE YOU CAN JUST TOSS AROUND TO YOUR FANCY!'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot harder then I thought it would be to fill (and I thought it'd be plenty hard!). 
> 
> It's probably very obvious that this is my first multi-chapter fic, so I'm sorry for the quality. But on the plus side I am trying to wrap this baby up now! I use the events of the books as targets to hit, and to my way of thinking I only have three (maybe four) events to go. 
> 
> So that's a positive note to finish with!


	5. In sickness and in health pt 1

_High wind_

_down vale,_

_thunders on._

_Quake! Quail!_

_For should you emerge_

_to see day,_

_run away! Run Away!_

 

_Mountain rumble,_

_forest burn._

_River rage and overrun._

_Wash away,_

_the old and young._

_Spare no thought,_

_for those you spurn._

 

 

***

 

**Cousin,**

**I write with urgent news- you're prescence is sought at The Hall for one of your own.**

**I cannot say more in words, but hurry! There is one who calls for you.**

 

**Master R. Brandybuck**

 

A summons from such a stoic and sensible hobbit such as “Old” Rory was not to be ignored, Bilbo had learnt to his cost. He pulled his old travel-worn pack from the back of the wardrobe and stuffed what essentials he might require, as well as plenty of coin for the hiring of Bywater's fastest pony and hurried out of his front door. Bell Gamgee was sat on the grass in her front garden of No. Three potting herbs when the Master of The Hill skidded to a stop by her gate. Young Samwise, helping his mother with the seasons planting, started to his feet and gave a deep bow- which Bilbo would have found amusing any other day had he not still been clutching the urgent missive in his hand as a reminder for the stop. 

 

'Mistress Bell, might I trouble you for a quick word?' Bell seemed as surprised as her youngest, though she had the years to fair it better. She quietly instructed young Sam to continue with his good work and moved through the gate and down the road a little, away from curious young ears and any eaves which they might find themselves under.

 

'Why Mister Bilbo, is something wrong up the Hill? 'Tis not the lad-'

 

'No! No all's quite well in that area, except that I received a rather urgent letter from Buckland this morning and I haven't been able to see to- well, anything. And I really am quite worried, what with the recent storms and I was wondering if you and Ham-' Bell sighed, putting her hands on her hips and shaking her head with a smile.

 

'You only need to ask. Really I'll explain it all to him and see that he's fed and cared for. Will you be gone long?'

 

'I hope not.' Bilbo replied fervently, gaze going to the hole at the top of the hill. 'I hate doing this to him, and to you! But the Master seemed quite insistent. And the last time I got a message such as this.. Well.' Bell nodded and placed a hand upon his, smiling reassuringly.

 

'You do what you need to Mister Bilbo, I'm sure everything will be alright. And everyone here will understand. Might even find it quite a little adventure with you being gone!'

 

Bilbo smiled, and quickly placed several of the coins on his person into the younger hobbits hand “to cover expenses” whilst he was away. With a last thank you and a bow of gratitude he turned and hurried to Bywater. 

 

He had a long ride ahead of him. Made all the more worrying that his destination was within the supposedly safe borders of the Shire, and not some distant and more dangerous lands.

 

***

 

'- discovered quite some way downstream at the ferry. It was pure chance that the Dock Master and young Adalbert were there to pull him ashore.' Bilbo nodded, not really listening as Rorimac guided him down along the warren of tunnels to the guest rooms. It was fortunate that Brandy Hall was so quiet, that there was room to spare, though Bilbo couldn't entertain the thought that his Brandybuck cousins would be as cruel to house him in the stables.

 

They rounded another corner and came to a stop in front of one of the many doors that lined the hallway. Bilbo noticed, briefly, a door close to out of the corner of his eye. It didn't seem to occur to young hobbits and future Masters of Buckland, that to be curious was a very inappropriate reaction to such an invasion by the Outside into your own smial. It seemed that it was not only Frodo who had inherited some of Bullroarer Took's spirit.

 

But the timing for such revelations was poor, and Bilbo was once again throughly distracted by the sight that greeted him when he opened the door. 

 

At any other time, indeed every other time Bofur had made the journey from Erebor luck, the weather and Mahal's favour had been with him. Now, lying buried in crisp Buckland linens it seemed that favour had finally fled him. There were large bindings around his chest, and his face and arms were covered in great purpling bruises that stretched from his shoulders down to his forearms, evidence of a fall or where he had struck the river bed when he had tumbled in two evenings prior.

 

'I'm afraid it was quite bad that night, even with the Old Forest and the High Hay to protect us. If he had strayed from the road northward there would have been little shelter.' Rory placed a hand on his older cousins shoulder, squeezing gently. 'He was lucky. Luckier even then those who fall in when the river has been calmer.'

 

Bilbo nodded, blinking back tears and clearing his throat so that his words of thanks would come out strong. Rory gave him a brief, tight smile in return and left, closing the door softly behind him. Bilbo stared at the dark oak for several moments before turning to the bed and the figure lying prone upon it. Bofur had called for Bilbo in his fever several times apparently, and now that it had broken the doctor was sure he would waken anytime now. The old hobbit pulled the pack off of his shoulder and set it at the foot of the bed before moving to stand at its head. 

 

Despite his injuries, and the pale quality of his cheeks, Bofur looked peaceful enough. Though that would surely change when he rejoined the land of the living by the state of him. Bilbo bent forward, bracing himself carefully against the matress and placing a light kiss on the dwarfs brow, before settling into the chair behind him. 

 

'Oh you do cause a lot of bother, don't you dear? Still I'm sure you have a very good explanation for it all. If not I'm equally sure you'll be quick about concocting one.'

 

 

*******

 

 

_'By the hearth we spin our tales,_

_of stars and roads_

_and wishing wells._

 

_But come the day_

_we must part ways,_

_to shores afar,_

_exactly where we cannot say._

 

_But memory of hearth and warmth,_

_of tales told from that far shore_

_will lead us back,_

_our journey's path_

_will see us home_

_to hearth once more.'_

 

That voice.

 

Bofur remembered that voice, though it had been many summers since he'd heard it last, tiny and light calling for just _one more toss! Please Unca Bofur!_ He opened his eyes, though only just prepared as he was for bright, burning pain to start stabbing his skull. He needn't have feared though. The room in which he found himself was darkened, the window curtained by a rich red fabric that muted what light passed through it to something far more tolerable and pleasant. Of course if he'd not been tired, and in some discomfort from his injuries he would of recognised it immediately as his and his love's own bedroom under The Hill. 

 

As it was he was distracted from further examining his surroundings by the small creature sat at the foot of his bed, an almost absurdly large book resting across its pale, boney knees. It was a curious little thing, almost hobbit-like except for the delicate (if obviously childish) angles of it's face. That and the eyes. He had only ever seen eyes like that in the faces of some elf-folk. Large and of a hue only seen in the clearest of skies or perhaps the lakes of the Blue Mountains, where the minerals had washed away in the rains. 

 

He grunted in frustration trying to put a name to such a face, but he could already feel the pull of sleep once more. Whatever noise he had made had alerted the sprite to his consciousness, and in a flurry of pages and wild curls the child was off, out of the door and out of sight. Bofur spent several minutes wondering who would next come through the door, and how long he would be detained here, before the creature came back in, its little face flushed with excitement. Through the door it pulled another, and at the sight of him Bofur cried out in delight, and no small amount of relief.

 

'By Aulё! Bilbo! I thought I was lost, that I would never see you again!' The dwarf tried to pull himself upright and forward toward the dear face, who moved to the side of the bed at speed and grabbed his shoulders to prevent him from getting up entirely. It was probably not Bofur's best idea, he realised as the wound in his side burned deep and painful. The knife he had not quite deflected in time had pierced what little armour he had been wearing, though the goblin on the other end of it had gotten the rawer deal- a caved in skull and its brains embedded deep into the rock wall. 

 

He had been explaining this, quickly and with rather a lot of exuberance at the sight of his love, and had completely forgotten the wee thing stood in the corner of the room by the wall watching and listening to proceedings with no small amount of enthusiasm of his own. 

 

' _Bofur!_ These are details that you can _wait_ to tell me, yes? When little ears are far less present.' Bilbo settled him back against plumped up pillows, the thick blankets pulled up to the dwarfs chin and tucked in tightly under the matress to curb futher attempts at rising. Bofur turned to the child- a boy now that he had woken a little more to notice, though just as beardless as the rest of his kind.

 

'Little ears? They seem just as big as yours m'dear- if a little more fine. Are you sure 'tis not some sort of Elf come to pay you a visit?' The boy giggled at him, and Bilbo sighed the sigh of the much put upon as he rounded the bed and took the boys elbow, guiding him to stand by the bed with him for a proper introduction. 

 

'My dear Bofur, this is Frodo! Say hello lad, there's no need to be shy.' The elder pushed the younger forward a little and Frodo gave a deep bow.

 

'At your service and your family's'. The soft voice said politely and correctly. A little too correctly, if the surprised look on both Bofur's face was to be judged by any outsider. _I always thought we were family.._ Frodo stood wringing his hands, looking toward his older cousin with concern writ on those fine features. 'I said it right didn't I Uncle?'

 

Bilbo coughed as if to clear his throat, and pasted an all-too-innocent expression on his face. 'Of course you did Frodo-lad. But our friend has had a long and.. _exciting_ journey. Why don't you run to the market and see if you can't find a treat for tea-time eh? Not Mrs. Bootleby's Coal cakes though mind. I doubt even a dwarfs stomach could handle such monstrosities- even on a good day, of which this is certainly not one.' 

 

Frodo glanced at each of them doubtfully, before giving another small bow to their guest and leaving the room once more. Bilbo's gaze lingered on the open door before turning abashedly to the figure in the bed. 'I meant to tell him before your next visit.. whenever that would be.' Bofur knew a rebuke when he heard one, a holdover from living with a sister-in-law who had to put up with extended family, and late nights at inns.

 

'But what is he doing here? A visit?' Bilbo huffed and folded his arms, shuffling in place being a nervous habit he'd had since Bofur had known him. 

 

'Well- ah no, as it happens.' His eyes turned pleading, though his barely lined face was set against any objection the dwarf might make, though why he should- 'He lives here now. With me, well with us I suppose.' If anything could of distracted Bofur from the knife wound that would be it.

 

'But, but I thought he was living with his family at Buckland? Ol' Rory seemed dead set on it after the funeral!'

 

'And at the time I agreed with him, wholeheartedly! What did I know about raising young hobbits? And don't say “we”. I love you dear Bofur, and this- this arrangement we've fallen into is all well and good between us. But to involve a child in it? Every year I would be alone to raise him for months at a time, and I thought it would be unfair. He needed a stable homelife after, well the accident. And Rory and Menegilda were better able to provide it.'

 

Bofur watched, heart aching as Bilbo's eyes filled against his will. The dwarf had so badly let his lover down, and without even knowing it. And he had let down a small boy who had just lost his parents to compound his failings. 

 

'Oh Bilbo. Love..' He pulled himself from the covers, leaning forward as far as he could as the hobbit stepped forward to meet him in the embrace. They stayed like that longer then was comfortable. Bilbo tried to pull back but Bofur held fast despite the discomfort, it being the least he could do. Eventually Bilbo gave in and pulled himself up beside the dwarf on the bed, burying his face in the dwarfs chest with many a mumbled apology. 

 

They stayed there, quiet in the stillness that settled about them in the large smial. The young lad must have left the front door ajar, a warm breeze and the sounds of children playing floating down through the hill. 'May I ask what changed? All those years and now you've bought Frodo here- is all well?' Bofur's hand tightened around the hobbits shoulder, fearful of the answer. But Bilbo was quiet, for a good long time before finally answering hesitantly.

 

'I, I'm not sure. Selfish reasons no doubt. I have been lonely- a little, during you're absence. And on my last visit Frodo, well he admitted to being lonely too. Such a warren and yet he had only one friend amoung the lot- little Meriadoc, a fine young hobbit I have to say. But when he told me that, and how he often felt lost in a sea of faces to whom he had no real connection.. It took only an hour to convince Rory to allow me to bring him back to Bag End with me to complete his education, to give him the time that no one else really had been capable of, though they tried.' Bilbo chuckled, a low wet sound that didn't sound completely genuine, 'And besides, it made more sense to celebrate both our birthdays together in one place. I am quite old now you now, certainly compared to a dwarf! Traipsing across the Shire isn't the easy feat it once was I'm afraid.'

 

Bofur thought he understood. And that understanding terrified him to the core, where no warmth could ever reach. He raised his hand, running calloused fingers softly across a smooth jaw and fair- almost unblemished- skin. He tilted Bilbo's face toward him, looking deep into beloved eyes traced with an unmentionable fear. He had no words of comfort, being in posession of such a clumsy tongue, only gestures that he hoped would be received, no matter how poorly displayed. He leaned down into Bilbo's weak smile, lips brushing, searching for warmth and acceptance...

 

***

 

Frodo would, for many a year after the fact, be grateful to have gone unnoticed, standing stock still in the open doorway of Bag End's master bedroom, basket of baked treats all but forgotten in slack hands as he blushed a deeply unflattering red. 

 

After all, it is one thing to have faint memories of such unions, inklings of the depth of feeling between two who meant the world to each other and to oneself.

 

But it was quite another to witness it first hand.

 

Tea for one then, Frodo thought, as he turned on his heel and fled to the pantry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for the kudos and kind comments. I'm feeling rather apprehensive about this story- I'm not entirely sure how it'll wrap up. 
> 
> I'm also eager to be finished- I think I've bitten off more then I can chew with this prompt!
> 
> Also all bad poetry courtesy of me.


	6. In Sickness And In Health pt 2

All things considered, Bofur thought, it was perhaps a good thing that he had long ago left the responsibilities of Erebors mining future in the hands of the younger generation. His recovery from the ambush in the mountain pass, and his unfortunate dip in the Brandywine, was a long and arduous one. He was not the young dwarf that sought to oust a dragon and claim a fortune that he once was. And despite his claims to the contrary, Bilbo seemed to be faring the rigors of age much better- at least on the outside.

 

There had been nights recently, when the hobbit had awoken with a gasp on his lips and a hunted look in his eyes as if he had to _run, as far and as fast as I-._ The pair of them put it down to Bilbo's work on his book, which was just a drawer filled with notes at present, and all the memories of those months under attack and the stress of the battle at the foot of the mountain that had followed. Certainly neither of them wanted to worry Frodo with such trivialities as a sleepless night or two.

 

It helped that, despite his supposed retirement, Bofur had found something to occupy himself with in the form of a blacksmiths in the village of Overhill. Clovis Weland, his wife and his two sons had inherited the Old Forge from a cousin, and whilst the young hobbit (well to Bofurs eyes) was well practiced in the art of smithing, he had been having some trouble getting the place on its feet.

 

It was during one of Bilbo's furious writing “frenzies” that Bofur had discovered the place. He and Frodo had been all but banished from Bag End soon after second breakfast, and had set off along the road that wound its way around The Hill with the idea of rambling around the southern edge of Bindbole wood. Of course the shape tang of burning charcoal hitting the back of his throat had sufficiantly distracted the dwarf from their mini-adventure, and he had ambled his way over to the Welands and their efforts to get the forge to smelting temperature. Of course when father and sons saw that they had an audience- and who that audience was, they were instantly welcoming. Hilda Weland cooed over young Frodo, who took to the attention with heartbreaking ease. Of course when Bofur told her of the lads loss some years before she quickly shuffled him off to the family kitchen to “fatten 'im up”. Bofur was intially nervous of their seperation, but quickly remembered that he was not in some foreign, unfriendly land. Hobbits were (for the most part) generous to a fault, especially those who it turned out held a great amount of respect for Bilbo Baggins.

 

'Aye he's an odd fella- but I don't heed rumours as much as some. And I won't have a word said agin a man s'fine as to help us with repairs to the old place.' Clovis smacked a proud hand against a support beam, before his face darkened and his arms fell limp at his sides. 'O'course that won't help us if we can't rid ourselves o' this shadow of debt..'

 

'To Bilbo?' Bofur asked, confused and surprised. Though Bilbo had lent money to many over the years, with the amount of gold and silver both he and Bofur had gained from The Adventure had meant that, more often then not, Bilbo had simply “forgotten” to ever collect any repayment. He had told Bofur, privately that many that he had helped were often too proud to ask for help and so he he used the term when really, he just wanted to gift it to those who needed it.

 

'Oh no! Gracious, forgive me sir! No Master Baggins has never come a-knocking. His kin though- aye I've had many a sleepless night over them, though I beg of ye not to say anything.' Bofur swore himself to secrecy, though reluctantly. It turned out that Otho Sackville-Baggins had learnt of what he deemed his ineritance being squandered on such a run down shed (as he'd been heard to describe the Welands small enterprise), and in the spirit of bitterness placed an order for a gate of ornate design and no less than fifty yards of matching fencing. He'd even put in a downpayment, one that was less then the man-power and materials needed to fill the order required.

 

Clovis was very distressed over the whole business. He had less then a month to complete the order, and with only two novice boys to help him he feared his reputation would be ruined. By the end of their visit Bofur was silently fuming. Frodo emerged from the family's hole covered in flour and glowing with happiness, a carefully wrapped package of whatever he had helped make clasped tightly in his hands. They had thanked the family profusely and been on their way, though the problem troubled Bofur long into the night.

 

'Its usually me that has difficulty dropping off.' Bilbo murmered, pushing himself up on one elbow to look down at the dwarf, the light of the crescent moon the rooms only illumination. Bofur grumbled a little before pulling his hobbit so that he lay across is chest. Bilbo grinned tiredly and played with the ends of the dwarfs silvered whiskers as Bofur settled the blankets more comfortably around them. He was silent a moment, before responding hesitantly.

 

'If ye were to learn, hypothetic like, that someone was being made the fool by those more.. Influential I suppose, but could not bring them to justice with those with _more_ influence, what would ye do to help?' Bilbo had paused in his idle moustache braiding to squint at him suspicously.

 

'This sounds a little too detailed to be hypothetical my love. It's not Frodo-'

 

'No! No Frodo's as happy as my brother in a food market! But really, what might ye do?' Bilbo watched him for another long moment, before shrugging and settling on Bofur's broad chest.

 

'I know what my father would have said- “If you cannot beat them, join them”. Though he was less then forthcoming in what he meant by that exactly.' And with that Bilbo settled down for sleep, in the hopes that he might actually get some.

 

***

 

Bag End came to life slowly the next morning. Bofur was the first to awaken, troubled by the problems bought upon the Welands and more importantly another restless night for his beloved. He and Bilbo had, over the last few weeks, been very careful not to trouble Frodo with this, this _sickness_ that had gripped his older cousin. Bofur had seen to it that Frodo be out of the smial and distracted by either himself or little Samwise from number three and his siblings, so that Bilbo could try and catch up with the sleep he had missed to evening before.

 

That morning for instance Bofur knocked quietly on the lads bedroom door, entering quickly so that the younger hobbit didn't make too much fuss whilst Bilbo lay in.

 

'Is everything alright Bofur? Last night, well I thought I heard Bilbo calling..' Bofur paused in pulling out some “rough and ready” old cloths from Frodo's wardrobe and turned to him, sat in the middle of his bed twisting the blankets between white-knuckled hands. It was frighteningly easy to forget that Frodo hadn't always been part of their lives together, at Bag End. That he had lost parents- and that loss never truly left the heart, no matter how many years removed.

 

And by not telling Frodo, event the barest detail of what ailed the older hobbit, they had been doing this bright, caring lad a great disservice.

 

'Frodo-lad it, it's not been an easy time of it for Bilbo of late. We never said anything because we- we just didn't want you to worry. But you have haven't you.' It wasn't a question, but Frodo lowered his eyes and gave a short corroborative nod. 'It'll get better, Bilbo's tougher than you can know! He's fought goblins and spiders an' riddled with a dragon as well you know! A few bad nights sleep won' put him down for long. You and I'll just have to be extra quiet and extra _scarce_ for a bit. Now hurry up! Sun's risen, you have a date with a trowel and some weeds with the Gaffer and I have a wrong to help right this morning!'

 

They ate quickly and cleaned quietly and Bofur then left his young charge in Hamfast and Sam's capable hands to tackle the vegtable patch. To say that Clovis was surprised by Bofur's intention to help fill Lobelia and Otho's over-inflated order- without taking a penny for the dwarfs services, was such a drastic understatement that Bofur feared the happy noise made by the blacksmith and his wife _would_ in-fact wake Bilbo up on the distant Hill. He spent a good many hours first pouring over the design, and then helping send the Weland lads out to order the raw materials needed and bring back what was readily available. By the time Bofur looked up from the casting moulds he had prepared for some of the fancier fixtures it was heading rapidly toward tea- time. The family offered him a seat at their own table, but he declined politely with the promise to return once their orders had arrived. By now an anxiousness had settled within Bofur, one that had no direct source other than Bilbo's continued exhaustion and inability to get through the night. He continued on up the Hill, faster now that he was within sight of Bag End's back gardens in the shadow of the tree that sat perched above it. One shadow dislodged itself from the rest, giving Bofur pause before it scampered down the dusty path to greet him. Frodo was muddy from the days labours, but underneath the skin of his cheeks was pale, and there were defintite tear tracks streaking the dirt down toward his pointed chin.

 

The hobbit-lad through himself into Bofur's arms, squeezing tightly with his voice muffled by his Uncles jerkin. 'Woah there- Frodo what's happened? Are you hurt, where be the Gaffer and little Sam?'

 

'Gaffer s-sent Sam home. We- _*hic*_ -we went in to the kitchen for a cup of water a-and there was an awful screaming from your r-room!' The boy buried his face in Bofur's chest again and Bofur could not get anything more from him. He felt shaky, he gripped Frodo close and hurried them both to the round green front door of Bag End. They all but tripped into the cool hall of the smial and straight into Bell Gamgee standing just inside.

'Oh my goodness, Master Bofur! Frodo, I'm so glad you're back, Ham's just gone to fetch the doctor.' Bofur gave her a tight nod and hurried on to the master bedroom, barely aware of the smaller hand clutching his arm. There was no screaming (thankfully) but it was obvious even to a novice that all was not well. Bilbo lay in the most awkward position on the bed- as if he had been writhing in agony and then fallen asleep mid-fit. The grip on his arm left as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and take one tightly fisted hand in his own. The fingers were unresponsive, and Bilbo's arms lay as if tied to the matress. 'How long has he been like this?'

 

Bofur aghast, turned to ask Bell, a silent prescence at the door. He stopped and jumped up at the sight of Frodo's terrified gaze locked on the still figure in the bed. Both he and Bell pulled the tween bodily away from the sight, but Frodo was already crying Bilbo's name and straining at their efforts to guide him away. The noise of the younger seemed to trigger something in the elder hobbit. A low keening quickly escalted in scale and pitch until it felt like the very walls were rippling and shaking with it.

 

Bell gave one last desperate pull and the grip Frodo had on the doorframe slipped enough that they could drag him down the hall to the front door.

 

_'NO NO LET ME SEE HIM! BILBO PLEASE! Please let me see him, don't let him leave me please! Please not again!_ _Please please please...'_ The pleading carried down the hill as Bell took the boy around the shoulders towards the dim and distant comfort of her home at no. three.

 

Bofur could only stand frightened and alone at the smials threshold, tears streaming down his own face as both cries of distress faded into the Shire night.

 

***

 

The doctor, an elderly gentleman as they all seemed to be, arrived after sunset on a cart that Hamfast had hired after discovering Mr. Meadowbeak had been attending some sort of outbreak in Waymoot. Meadowbeak wasted no time with extended pleasantries, merely quirking a bushy and unkempt eyebrow at the sight of a dwarf in the gentlehobbits residence. Hamfast offered to wait to see if the doctor required an onward journey but Bofur shook his head, still numb with shock and asked only the the Gamgees take care of Frodo- at least for the time being. He fumbled around Bilbo's study, keeping an ear and an eye on the door of their bedroom before producing enough coin to recompense the family before leaving a startled Gaffer at the door (with more money then he'd ever seen in one place) and hurried back to his love's side.

 

The doctor was gently peeling back first one eyelid, then the other and exposing them to the light of a small candle. He pulled back, grunting with discontent at whatever he'd seen and pushed the dwarf back out into the hall, pulling the door to behind them.

 

'Young Gamgee said he found him like this late this afternoon?'

 

'Aye, yes I- I don' know if he was like this when I left at breakfast. He seemed just to be asleep.' Bofur's voice betrayed him, cracking on the last word he buried his face in his now much abused hat, fingers tightening until his knuckles cracked. The famillier sensation of a small, light hand pulled him back to the present. Meadowbeak's face had lost any hint of distaste he might have held towards the dwarfs presence, seeing only the distressing effects of illness on the patients loved-one.

 

'There now, Master Bofur was it? There seems to be no sign of fever on him, his eyes are behaving as they should for one merely in the depths of sleep. Am I right in saying that he has not been sleeping well?' Bofur nodded, eyes downcast. He felt as though he had failed Bilbo in not finding help sooner.. If only.. 'Now snap out of that lad! I'm the doctor here and there is nothing you could of done to foresee this outcome. Dwarves are not so different to hobbits that you should be able to predict the unpredictable eh?' Meadowbeak grasped Bofur's elbow and led him back into the bedroom.

 

Bilbo still lay stiff and splayed.

 

It was unnatural to see him so, and Bofur voiced these thoughts.

 

'Yes well. It is rather difficult to diagnose- his body is not crippled with arthritis like a lot of hobbits his age. If he will drink it I have a tea that will relax him so that we may move him into a more comfortable position.' Bofur hurried to set the kettle to boil, Meadowbeak following with his large satchel, setting it on the kitchen table and digging about inside. 'I am rather curious about this case. Master Baggins has always been in remarkable health for a hobbit his age, though I suppose- as a dwarf, you have not noticed as such.' Bofur fowned as he set the boiled kettle on a cork mat and fetched a cup.

 

'Everyone seems to be in awe of 'im. To the Gamgee lad, young Sam, he seems to hold the position of some kind of hero from legend. But you're right, I've never thought about his age much.'

 

'Well, I'm not one to judge, but when he returns to us from this deep sleep I would suggest he take life a little easier? A-hundred and four is _not_ a sprog anymore. And I know Master Baggins likes his jaunts around and about, but with a tween to raise.. Well, I would strongly advise seeking out elves and sprites and such.'

 

The tea was steeped, and delivered to a very reluctant patient. Meadowbeak held Bilbo's nose between the fingers of one hand and poured with the other- gently so as not to choke him- until the potion was all gone. Whatever was in it worked wonders, for not an hour later they were able to move him into a less back breaking posture beneath clean sheets. The only exception was Bilbo's left hand, still tightly clenched, that not even drugging would relax.

 

Meadowbeak simply hummed and dug more satchets of the tea from his bag. 'These should last the night and into the 'morrow. If he doesn't fully relax by midnight then you may give him another dose. A dose every four hours and not a jot more mind!' His bag snapped shut and Bofur saw him to the door, where Hamfast had left the pony and cart tied to the fence with a nose-bag. The doctor unhooked this whilst Bofur stood beside the gate, satchets gripped tightly between large hands. The doctor readied the pony, but turned to the dwarf for a final word. 'Remember- every four hours. Do try to loosen his grip on that left hand lest it do him some injury. But don't force it! I shall be back at lunch-time. If he worsens _which I do not expect,_ I shall be at The Green Dragon. And try not to worry yourself into an illness Master Dwarf!' Meadowbeak pulled himself up on to the cart, and nodding politely set off down the hill to Bywater.

 

***

 

As instructed Bofur prepared another satchet, and with no small amount of reluctence prepared to force it into Bilbo. Something must have eased since the first dose, Bofur settled himself against the headboard and pulled the smaller hobbit up against his chest and pulled the quilt across them both. In this way he was able to press the cup to Bilbo's lips and smooth his hands through the thick curls to rub gently at his scalp while he drank. It was long past the witching hour, and Bofur was half asleep when a rumble passed through Bilbo's chest and into his own. Stirred from a restless half-dream Bofur was startled to find he recognised the words whispered into the darkened room, though he had not heard them in almost two years, since he had left Erebor in fact.

_'Baruk Rakhâs! Salôn! Rakhâs aya Uruktharbun!'_

 

These words, he had never spoken the language of Khuzdul in front of Bilbo, it was _their_ language- not to be shared with outsiders, no matter if they be friend or foe (save to offer a knowing insult amoungst themselves). No-one in that company, oh so long ago, had spoken of it to their Burglar not even Ori, whom Bofur had been jealous of for a time until the lad had offered a shy smile and a charcoal drawing of Bilbo to him and offered his own meager congratulations.

 

And Uruktharbun? Those halls were lost, along with all those in Moria, long ago.

 

But..

 

Bilbo had spoken of Balins visit. Of happy stories shared between Ori and Frodo. Of Oin's toast to 'The Venture!'.

 

Of all those heated meetings between Dain and Balin, which Dwalin had despaired of- and objected to.

 

Of Balin leading a two-hundred strong group of dwarves south and west..

 

_'Run, run, runrunrun ABZAGEL! ABZAGEL BALROG! We cannot get out, drums. Drum drum drum.._

 

_Please. We cannot get out'_

 

Bofur's blood ran cold, he jerked, the arms he had wrapped around Bilbo's chest flying up to slap a hand across his mouth- stop this, this _hex_ this thing that seemed to have taken possesion deep within his beloved. As he did this he jostled Bilbo's arm, the left that had been so stiff with holding his hand fisted so tightly. The fingers flews open and a sliver of gold caught his eye as it dropped over the side of the bed and landed with a solid _*thunk* -_ like a body hitting the ground. The momentum from Bofur's reaction had them both over the far side of the bed, though the dwarf managed to twist in the short space so that Bilbo had a softer landing on him, rather than the floor. When he opened his eyes, Bofur found a pair most treasured, staring back at him.

 

'Not that I love you any less, but don't you think we're a little _old_ for rolling around on a cold floor, my dear?' The voice was scratchy, tired but _present,_ and so very very welcoming to the ears. Bofur pulled himself up off of the floor, and scooped Bilbo up and on to the bed beneath the covers before tucking himself in behind him.

 

'Oh Bilbo, I thought- you remember nothing of tonight? Of yesterday?' The hobbits breath hitched, but his voice was steady when he replied.

 

'No.. Just. Shadows. And fire. I was asleep?' Bofur buried his face in a small shoulder. Breathing deeply, in and out.

 

'Yes dear. But, the doctor came. And now you're' _back '_ better.' Bilbo nodded, before turning in Bofur's grasp, eyes wide in his pale face.

 

'Frodo..'

 

'Is safe and sound with Bell and Ham. Worried sick about you. He- he was very angry with me earlier.' Bilbo's eyes had closed, a small frown marring his features. He nuzzled at Bofur's cheek, his nose cold.

 

'Scared. People do strange things when they're frightened, especially young boys. He'll forgive you tomorrow. The light will always drive away the shadows...' A soft breath against his mouth told him that Bilbo had fallen asleep, a much more natural slumber if the way he curled around the dwarf was any indication.

 

Bofur pulled himself closer, eyes closing against the weariness that settled over him. Frodo might forgive him, Bilbo might not see that there is anything to forgive.

 

But Bofur knew it would take some time to forgive himself for not acting sooner.

 

***

 

When morning came, a jubilant Frodo returned to Bag End. He greeted his Uncle, wrapping his arms around him tight enough to cut off his breath. He then approached Bofur, and tearfully apologised for his behaviour, his words of the previous day. Bofur pulled him close, held him and told him there was 'nought to be sorry about. Ever'.

 

With a ruffling of curls and a happy laugh Bofur escorted a weakened but smiling Bilbo out to the sitting room for some breakfast. Frodo remained behind, tidying away candle stubs and putting the bed to rights. Stepping around the side of the bed he stepped on something cold and hard. Bending he picked up the unobtrusive object, Bilbo's gold ring!

 

Frodo watched it as he twisted the bauble to catch the light. Then he laughed, light with hapiness at his uncles recovery, and placed the ring in the little chest on the beside table, wrapping it carefully in the handkerchief within before shutting the lid and running off to answer the call of breakfast.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This took a while to update. Things sort of got on top of me but I think I'm almost done with this. 
> 
> The horrible Khuzdul is from various websites. But as I'm no linguist I've just cobbled some words together and hope they make some sort of sense. 
> 
> 'Baruk Rakhâs! Salôn! Rakhâs aya Uruktharbun!'- Axes of orcs! Descend swiftly! Orcs upon [place name].
> 
> 'ABZAGEL! ABZAGEL BALROG!' Bane! Bane of all banes (a) Balrog!
> 
> Hopefully I will be getting to the last part soon :)
> 
> *Also uploaded after a long few days at work. Brain not functioning. Any mistakes spotted will gladly be put right :)


	7. The Novice Burglar

It was a warm, clear day during Astron that saw Meriadoc Brandybuck sauntering casually along the Bywater road, the Three Farthing Stone behind him and The Hill rising before him in the distance. Like the Lonely Mountain the young hobbit thought wistfully to himself as he shifted the much-lightened-but-still heavy pack across his shoulders, easing the tension building in his neck. It was with great reluctence that his mother, the formidable Esmeralda Brandybuck (neé Took) had even let her only son on this little adventure- the previous two months holed up in Brandy Hall with the masses that lived there due first to heavy snowfall and then to an illness that had plagued the very young and old alike, which had seen Merry himself bedridden for much of Yule and unable to visit (or be visited) by any of his relatives Shire-side of the river- she certainly wasn't going to see him off without plenty of provisions to fatten him up after his convalesance. Merry's father Saradoc had merely given her a tolerant smile at her fussing, and when she had finished made sure that Merry actually did have what he needed, including a pocket-knife.

'There are no such thing as “safe places” in the world Merry-lad.' He'd said (rather gruffly and out of range of his wife's hearing. 'Every hobbit living within a league of the High Hay and borders knows that. Best to have a nasty surprise for those that might take advantage of such secular living.' Of course even the more practical, and even worldly-wise (such as any Bucklander can be) Saradoc would have been surprised by what had caught Merry's keen eye during his hike. He had not, as he had so faithfully promised his mother, taken the ferry across the river and taken the road to Stock and up to the East Road. He'd had his head filled by far too many stories of his “uncle” Bilbo and his Adventure. He had therefore promptly abanoned the road to the ferry on the west bank and made his way across country on a more direct route he had planned from a map hanging in his gradfather's study. Much more direct and might even have saved him a few hours into the bargin!

But even the most stay-at-home of hobbits couldn't fail to miss that the amount of traffic off the main roads was obscene. Merry spent much of his journey crouched in amongst the bushes for there were dwarves everywhere. Thinking back that was an exaggeration, but the five or six he actually saw wouldn't have held little Pippins interest when he saw him next.

But even the few he saw were unusual. And they acted so.. furtive, always looking over their shoulders they never had lamps and he only saw them when the sky had darkened enough so as not to be so easily seen. He had been glad to sleep within sight of Frogmorton the second night, though he had kept his small knife in his hand the entire time.

Merry's hand strayed to the knife in his pocket, even now. But this trip had been a long time coming, and his parents and grand-parents and everyone at Brandy Hall knew it. Where Esmeralda had inherited almost nothing of the Took spirit, she had instead passed it to her son. Which explained all the trouble he got in even without Pippin's help.

This visit was a long time coming for many reasons, and not all of them were so widely known. It was no coincidence that- for the first three or four days at least- Bilbo would be in Michael Delving on some business or another. And as he was the biggest obstacle to, rather ashamedly, Merry's devious and ill-thought-out plan, it meant that there were only two hurdles to overcome and not three.

He was so deep in thought as to how to set these nebulous plans into motion that he didn't notice the shout, only the heavy sensation of the air being knocked from his lungs as he landed on his heavy, lumpy pack and, subsequently the packed earth beneath that. He knew he must have made quite a spectacle lying there, pack stapped securely to him and not allowing him to get back up. Legs and arms waving as he tried to pitch himself to the side so that at least he could roll onto all fours. The childishly high giggling from somewhere to his left identified the culprit, and how anyone in their right mind thought Merry was immature..

'Hey now Frodo, help 'im up lad! That's no sack of feathers he's carrying.' The laughter cotinued as another pair of footsteps, booted this time and much easier to hear, stopped by his side- accompanied by a pair of large hands that hauled him to his feet as though he were the one made of goose-down. Master Bofur stared at his clothing critically, whipping a scrap of linen from his pocket to brush off some of the dust that had settled on the seat of his trousers where he fell. This set the younger Baggins off again, and Merry turned to face (and glare) at his older cousin for the first time in months.

'And a hail fellow well met to you cousin dearest! And I thought these fancy Hobbiton folks were supposed to be imparting proper hobbit manners to you!'

'And they are little Merry,' Frodo wrapped a long arm around the younger hobbits shoulders with a small and devious grin, 'they are imparting the wisdom of good food and fine beer in abundance!' Bofur cuffed Frodo as he passed, giving his ward a sharp look along with it.

'Aye and we had an agreement that no-one, least of all your uncle, would be hearing about the abundance of beer from you until you came of age!' Frodo pulled away from Merry, his full cheeks red, the tips of his ears following close behind. Merry laughed now pleased to see his favourite dwarf bringing Frodo down a peg or two. Which reminded him..

'I guess you've been quite busy while Bilbo's been away- what with all the other dwarves passing me by in the dead of night and ruining my sleep.' The group stopped suddenly on the bridge, causing a slight scuffle as several hobbits manuvered their sheep to new fields.

'What “other dwarves”!'

'What route were you taking Merry! You promised you would take the roads!'

The shouting was hardly necessary, they were right next to him. He glared at Frodo before giving Bofur a shame-faced little grin. 'I didn't speak to any of them. They didn't even see me- and I had this.' He pulled out his little knife to show them, and blinked at the loud bark of laughter Bofur let out.

'Tha's what your da gave to protect yourself with? Dwarves carry axes- at least Frodo's size if not bigger! The lads right- what were you doing straying from the road!' Merry wasn't an irrational teenager usually (unless under the influence of younger relatives) and so he didn't snap or storm off like he'd known some others to do. He immediately apologised for his foolishness and promised to never do such a thing again. And definitely not to give clues to his activities to adults and near adults if he did do such silly things again. This seemed to mollify Bofur somewhat- though Merry suspected that, even all these years around hobbits he was still unsure how to deal with the more conniving ones. Frodo just gave him a long sideways stare and then huffed when he saw Merry was completely unrepentant.

Bofur led them up The Hill, pausing at no. three so that Frodo could speak with Sam Gamgee quietly. Merry knew that his cousin and Sam had become good friends over the years, especially since the other boys mother died over winter. It was hard to stamp out the flare of jelousy in his gut at the sight of them talking qiuetly, Frodo had after all been the closest thing to a brother Merry had had back in Buckland. But stamp it out he did- it wasn't Sam's fault after all- and he even gave the older Gamgee boy a small smile as Frodo ran out of the garden and skidded next to him on the dry road. Both boys took the pack from Bofur as they started up the hill, and in no time they were at the round green door of Bag End. As was his habit Merry paused before moving into the hall to exam the wood for any marks or strange sratches. You never knew when a wizard might stop by with the promise of gold after all.

***

It wasn't quite the welcoming feast Bilbo might have prepared, Bofur was a very fine cook- when it came to camp fire fare, but anything more lavish was best left to the those in the know and not a miner. The three of them stood at the doors of the pantry for several moments before the dwarf sighed and told them to “have at anything that didn't need a fire”. Of course to a growing lad like Merry this was decidedly the wrong thing to say for he soon had one large plate piled high with cheese, cold cuts and bread and one slightly smaller plate filled with buns. Bofur gave a small smile at their enthusiasm but left with his own plate for the parlor, leaving the two boys to share news and stories over their supper.

'You should see him, he's utterly besotted with her- not that I can blame him, but he just can't seem to work up the nerve to ask for an ale, let alone courting!' Frodo seemed amused and exasperated in turn at Sam setting his fancy to Rosie Cotton. Merry rather thought it was Sam's age, there clearly came a point where hobbit boys were more susceptible to having their wits addled by a lass, and the young gardener had apparently reached it. He said as much, and had the great fortune of watching Farmer Cotton's award winning milk spray out of his older cousins nose. Laughing they quickly mopped up the mess, but even as Merry moved back to the table, having deposited the sopping cloth into the sink Frodo's mood had faltered, he was now staring morosely at his plate as he tore a bread role to shreds between pale ink-stained fingers.

'I'll miss this. Having you or Pippin or Fatty around to draw me away from my books.'

'Frodo!' Merry gaped at the older boy, startled at such distressing words. 'Wh-where do you think we'd be going?'

Frodo gave a small shrug and pasted on a smile of such false cheer that Merry moved not to his chair opposite his cousin but next to him, pushing the plate (and its rather decimated contents) away from Frodo's restless fingers. 'Now see here Frodo Baggins, what do you mean by saying such things?'

'Just, it's silly I suppose but, well.. I'll be an adult. And Master of the Hill. I can't imagine you'll want to hang around here all day, waiting for me to finish dealing with small holders and managing the family funds and such.' Merry stared at him, a hundred questions popping through his head and a hundred more theories confirmed (or as near as his usually close-lipped cousin would admit). But the uncomfortably sad look of Frodo's face stayed the younger hobbits tounge. He scooted his chair a little closer and wrapped an arm around hunched slim shoulders, giving Frodo a jiggle to try and make the smile return.

'My dearest Frodo, you are the closest thing to a brother I have, aside from Pippin- but he's more of a shadow so I don't count him, he's a given. You will never be rid of me, of any of us! We'll be here when you're Bilbo's age, ready and willing to eat you out of house and hole never fear!'

Frodo's smiled wobbled but became more heartfelt. He quickly turned in his seat and tugged Merry into a fierce embrace, before standing and taking their empty plates to the sink and not-so-discreetely wiping his sleeve across his face as he did so. After a moment Merry joined him, nudging Frodo aside to dry the cutlery whilst he washed. A mistake as, despite his fears of impending adulthood and all that it might mean, Frodo was not one to back away from a fight- especially a fight that meant he was now covered from head to curly-toes in dirty water. They quickly tired themselves out and after stacking the dishes in their proper place they parted company for the night.

Merry waited for Frodo's door to click shut before heading toward his own, thoughts a-whirl with supposition about Bilbo's “business trip” to Michael Delving, and all the to-ing and fro-ing of the strangers across the East Farthing during his journey. He almost didn't hear the quiet Meriado, but then he paused and swallowed heavily.

He had not expected to get away entirely with his foolishness. He turned longingly from the door of the guest bedroom and prepared to face his fate.

 ***

 Most everyone knew that Bilbo Baggins kept the company of a dwarf at Bag End. That of course was a euphemism well used in the Shire. Unlike Big Folk and Elves, relations between lads and lasses were not unheard of, though as in all things these relations were generally kept private and most were merely the recklessness of youth. Something that was usually grown out of, but not frowned upon. After all most hobbit famillies had such large broods it rarely mattered one way or the other.

Only those living east of the Brandywine knew that Bilbo and Master Bofur had, on the very eve of Primula and Drogo Baggins's happy union, celebrated a union of their own. Made doubly official by the dwarvish contingient that had all but gate-crashed the ensuing party and helped decimate the wedding feast before the vows between man and wife had even been confirmed (a fact that still had Merry's grandfather seething after all these years).

The fact was that Bofur had been a major factor in Merry's life since he was born. Still it didn't mean that he was any the wiser as to how he felt about the dwarf. Oh, they got on just fine, if a little removed through distance and relation. So how the current conversation was to unfold Merry couldn't even begin to guess.

Bofur sat in a hard oaken armchair by the fire, the one Bilbo usually sat in when he was about to deliver a punishment and didn't want to appear too comfortable about it, Merry noted unhappily. The dwarf was staring into the fire, his pipe unlit cupped in his large hand. His hair lay unbraided about his shoulders, indeed it looked like he had spent much of the time since he had left them in the kitchen running his hand through the fine, dark strands. In fact the rug, which ran the length of the parlor, looked much more rucked then usual laying slightly askew on the polished wooden floor. Bofur must have been pacing up a storm during his absence, the food on his plate lay untouched on the rooms large table.

Merry shifted where he stood by the doorway and that seemed to stir Bofur from his thoughts. Dark eyes studied him from under greying eyebrows and he gestured the him in closer with his pipe, which he lay aside with a grimace.

'Come in then lad. I expect y'have an idea what I want to talk about.' Merry nodded but didn't speak, he didn't want to incriminate himself anymore than necessary after all. If this had been his father or grandfather he'd have known what to expect; a sharp smack or two to his rear and a lifetime (or a week) of mucking out Brandy Hall's stables- a chore he was sadly all-too famillier with). With his mother he'd get a lecture- delivered at a steadily increasing volume- and a week of cold dinners. And then a rescinding of privilages that would see him trapped in Buckland for months. He grit his teeth and prepared for the worst.

To be sent home. In the company of a Shirriff most likely, so as to avoid any further “detours” on his part.

Bofur opened his mouth and, 'What did you see of these dwarves?' Asked a question instead. Merry rocked back on his heels slightly. He knew the expression on his face was one of surprise. He had felt his eyebrows rise in a similar way when Pippin had, at the tender age of nine, declared that he wanted to marry his Brandybuck cousin when they were old enough, so that they could play together more often and without the company of his older sisters.

'Well lad? Did you see what they looked like?'

'Uh, no. That is to say not really. I didn't light any fires and I kept my lantern covered when I heard them nearby.' Bofur grumbled and looked toward the wide windows that faced east from The Hill.

'There was a full moon these past few nights, and nought but clear sky. You must of seen something of them. Even just the shape of them.' Merry shook his head, frowning and about to insist that he had seen nothing of them until he remembered, like a flash of lightening that he had seen two of them, and fairly close up too, lurking in the hills above Frogmorton.

'Stooped. One he, he didn't carry himself like you. Or any dwarf I've seen coming or going through the North Gate.' There was more and Bofur leaned forward, as serious as Merry had ever seen him. 'Yes, they were stooped, and sort of thin like- an aunt of mine had been ill once, near death. She hadn't eaten properly for ages and she became thin like this one seemed to be.' Bofur hissed through his teeth, standing and striding through to the front door. The lock on it, rarely used was now pushed into place. Bofur stood his head bowed before it for a moment, then turned and shuffled back, collapsing in to the chair as though he'd just arrived from Erebor.

A strange urge overcame the youngster then, to offer some comfort or kindness to the old dwarf. He didn't know what had caused such a downturn in the usually jolly demenour, and he suddenly felt awful that his arrival had caused someone so trusting to become so afraid that he felt the need to lock the door against a usually benign world.

'I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I'd just wanted to get here a little faster.' He could feel his throat tightening, despite his efforts to remain calm. Bofur looked up at him then, eyes wide in the firelight. He stood and pulled Merry into a hug. He'd never been hugged by the dwarf before, it was not so different to his grandfather's embrace. Smokier perhaps, and certainly hairier, but it had the effect of calming Merry before he made an ass of himself. He sniffed and wrapped his arms, with a little difficulty around his honorary “uncle” before letting go and stepping back sheepish and with his ears burning slightly.

'Ye look tired, tramping over fields and hills'll do that to you. Off to bed with ye- no doubt Fodo'll have you running all over the place tomorrow.' Merry smiled and moved toward the hallway, he turned though when something else occurred to him-

'One, one of the dwarves he.. Well for a moment I thought I saw him clearly. I thought I saw his ears at any rate. They looked more, well, elvish I suppose. Though more twisted, and with things piercing them. It was strange..' He trailed off there, it sounded silly. When he looked up Bofur was staring at him more intently then even before. He gave another small smile and a quiet goodnight before turning and all but running for the guest room.

Neither he nor Frodo were aware that long after both were tucked up in bed, sleeping soundly and dreaming deeply Bofur remained awake, his trusty mattock clutched close to his chest and his sharp gaze focused on the dark night lying benign and quiet behind Bag End's door.

***

The morning broke far earlier then Merry would ever wish after a long journey and an almost sleepless night. He'd tossed and turned for what felt like hours, going over his conversation, nay interrogation with Bofur, and then waking periodically to the sound of booted feet trying to tiptoe through the smial. He wondered at that briefly, glancing out of his easterly window and seeing nothing but the accursed sunshine and the sign of daily life stirring in Bagshot Row.

It didn't help that he was now considered too old now to be sharing with other lads on visits. He would usually have shared Frodo's room, sleeping curled up with the older boy, or in a pile with Pippin stealing all the covers. A not-so-insignificant part of him longed for those nights under tented covers with a carefully placed lantern, having Frodo telling stories (usually with elves and goblins and great battles). He was growing uncomfortably aware that, not only was Frodo reaching his majority, but Merry's own responsibilities- as future Master of Buckland- were beginning to grow more significant.

Which is why time was growing so short to find out as much as he could about Bilbo's secret.

A thump from Frodo's room pulled him from his thoughts, and he scrambled from his nest of cotton and comforter and pulled a change of shirt from his pack. Dragging his braces onto his shoulders he dived out of the room, seconds ahead of Frodo- who all but skidded into the opposite wall in his haste. The reason for the race lay in an innocuous bowl both boys had seen the previous evening. The weather had been unseasonably kind in the Shire, and had resulted in an early batch of blueberries from Bag End's gardens. Muffins and pancakes would have been the first reciprocants of the beautifully ripe fruit. If two hobbit boys didn't get there first!

Merry swung himself around the doorway, the feel of Frodo's fingers against his shirt telling him he was close to being thrown into last place, and immediately crashed in to an unsuspecting Samwise Gamgee, arms laden with goods from the pantry from eggs to flower to-

'Oh Merry! Now look what's happened!' Frodo knelt down carefully and surveyed the casualties, a half-dozen from Peony Smallborrows finest Rosecomb hens, their golden contents dotting wall and floor.

'I am so sorry Mister Frodo.' Sam moaned, pulling a dishcloth from his shoulder and mopping up the remains. Frodo snatched the cloth, and set his pale hand on Sam's smiling.

'There is absolutely no need to be sorry. It is entirely Merry's fault,' the cloth smaked Merry in the face rather wetly, 'and he shall be cleaning this mess up. Oh no. The blueberries.' Merry smirked at his cousins pout for a moment, before his face fell. Their haste and silliness had cost them their breakfast!

Frodo sat Sam at the table with a cup of tea and then helped Merry pick up all the berries that could be found and set them by the sink to be washed. Deciding that, after such an inauspicious start they'd best stick with something simple, they joined Sam at the table with bread and jam and tea. Merry was mid-chew before he realised something was amiss in the morning routine. 'Where's uncle Bofur?' Frodo blinked, the glanced around the room as if expecting just to have overlooked the dwarf by mistake. Sam swallowed his slice and pulled a small square of paper from his breeches, presenting it to Frodo ruefully, having forgotten in the chaos of breakfast.

'I saw him earlier Mister Frodo, he looked like he'd slept nought. He was heading toward Bywater and asked to make sure you ate before doing anything else with Mister Merry.' Frodo unfolded and set about reading the message. Merry decided to set one thing to rights early this visit.

'It's not Mister Sam, I'm not my grandfather yet you know. And I'm sure Frodo would agree it is a bit of a mouthful, at least between the three of us, isn't that right cousin?' Frodo hmm'd before snapping to attention.

'Yes that's right Merry. I've told you Sam, it's not neccesary to be so formal with myself or my friends. I would never surround myself with people who would look at you and yours as anything but equals. And it is really just wrong to hear Merry referred to as such. How many hours did you spend mucking out the ponies this month?' Merry scowled at Frodo's amusement.

'Not as many as you did when you were caught stealing from Farmer Maggot, dear Frodo.'  
Sam gaped at them as they both burst into laughter, before smiling indulgently at the bickering.

'So what shall we do first then lads? We could head on to Overhill, Bofur has some errands to run before heading to the Forge,' he lifted the letter for emphasis, 'or we could stop off in Bywater for the market. It's warm today- we could shock the village by going swimming?' This last was met with a gasp of horror from Sam. It was a well know fact that hobbits didn't swim. It was equally well known that Bucklanders and folks out east were queer as. Boating and swimming, it just wasn't done by sensible folk. And when they learnt that Frodo Baggins, of all hobbits, could swim and did with abandon (even in the relativly tame river running through Hobbiton), well they put it down to him not really being a Baggins. Now though Merry and Frodo turned to the Gamgee lad with identical expressions of glee. Sam couldn't swim and wasn't it a lovely day to learn...

'I'm sorry sirs, I mean Mist- Frodo. Merry. Me Da's got a list o' chores as long a me arm to finish. The doors here need a bit o' oil to stop the squeeks, there's the rhubarb to be collected, garden needs watering and that's jus' here. I need to go back home and set to chopping firewood and..'

'Alright Sam, we were just teasing.' Frodo interrupted with a smile at his friends hasty babble. He picked up his knife and started preparing another slice of bread with the juicy preserve.

'We could help.' Merry exclaimed suddenly, causing the older boy to almost lose his slice. Twin looks of incredulity met dampened his sudden and unbelievable excitement. 'No we could! Frodo, you and I have done chores at Brandy Hall. Brandybucks may be thought of as “gentlehobbits”,' he snorted over the term, 'but you live at the Hall and you pull your weight, family or servent or anything in between! And you help Bilbo tend the garden here Frodo. It's not all down to the Gaffer and Sam.' He could see he was winning Frodo around to the idea, he was nodding at Merry's words.

'We haven't got much else planned for today, this visit was a bit unexpected to really put much forethought in to what we would do.. And Bilbo would be annoyed if we just wandered off for a few nights without him having said hello to Merry first. Yes! It's a fine idea-'

'I'll do the chores inside then!' Merry cut in rudely, which raised an eyebrow with the others but brought no objections. They quickly set about cleaning their plates (both literally and figuratively) and made a list of things that needed to be done and by whom before gathering the supplies they would need.

•••

Merry didn't immediately head to the study, though he was itching with the desire to see his plan in motion. For one he didn't want to get caught- both Frodo and Sam made several intial trips in and out of the smial for various items- and for another he did not wish to get Sam in trouble for not having done as he was told. He genuinely liked Sam, though he would be a liar if he didn't admit to intial feelings of jealousy when he'd first learnt of the older boys friendship with Frodo. He'd been only seven when Bilbo had adopted Frodo and brought him to Hobbiton. For Merry it had been like losing his older brother. Frodo had been his sitter, his friend and constant companion, and for a long time he had been angry at Bilbo for taking all of that away from him- especially when his parents had learnt that they would be unable to provide Merry with any siblings. To have only one child was as rare as being unable to have any. Hobbits were prolific, and any that weren't were pitied to a certain extent.

After, though, Merry had just been sad. He pined, though he was by no means friend-less. There were many Brandybuck and Boffin children in Buckland, you could practically trip over them that's how many there were. But his parents were at the end of their tether when a letter came from Hobbiton inviting Merry and his parents to visit and see Frodo's new home. Merry could remember the uncontainable joy at the prospect of seeing his “big brother” again. And the heavy weight that had settled in his little chest when he'd seen how much more settled, how much happier Frodo was with Bilbo then he had been with Merry and his family.

Now though, Merry couldn't feel any such resentment. Frodo had become more of the person he might have been if Drogo and aunt Primula had lived. At least that was what Merry chose to believe, and it was all down to the remarkable old hobbit whose secret Merry was determined to get to the bottom of. He owed it to Frodo to see that his happiness wasn't diminished, and he owed it to Bilbo for helping to raise the best hobbit Merry had ever known.

A quick check of Bag End's many rooms confirmed that Merry was indeed alone. He quickly put aside the little oil can and patted down the hall, stopping before his goal and casting quick, gulity glances over his shoulder. His hand settled on the doorknob and jerked to the left, only to be foiled by the fact that the door was locked!

'Really Bilbo? Don't you trust your family?' He fumed silently before bending to examine the lock. It was unlike the one on the smials front door, and certainly unlike any Merry had ever seen in Buckland. There was an intricate pattern, running around the edge that looked somewhat familliar- Bofur's mattock of course! Dwarvish design on a lock meant that- unlike the more simplistic locks at the Hall- Merry would be unable to pick this one open. Another talent he'd never be able to put into practice then. He stood up and crossed his arms. Then he started tapping his foot. By the time an idea came to him he was pacing the hallway.

The key might not be in Bilbo's possesion right at that moment. He may not want curious youngsters rifling through his papers, but he wouldn't want to run the risk losing what might be the only key to a very unique lock either. Grandpa Rory kept a key for the small gate in the High Hay in a chest in his study.. He glanced to the right of the door at the chest that lay partially hidden beneath a sheaf of paper and books. He carefully put them to the side and lifted the lid, eyes widening at the contents.

There was a, well he thought it was a helmet. It was very heavy, made of iron it seemed with a dirty leather cap to seperate the metal from its owners head. Merry was automatically tempted to try it on- but the smell proved too much and he cast it aside, rubbing his hands on his trousers to rid them of the grainy black substance that had covered its surface. Next was a sword, not one that one of the Big Folk might use, the design of it matched the design of many of Bofur's dwarvish possesions. But Merry knew that the old dwarf didn't own a sword- given half the chance he would tell Bilbo's many younger cousins exactly how versatile his mattock was. In graphic detail, much to many-a-parents dismay. He wondered who had wielded it? It seemed well made and even more well cared for. What dwarf would part with such a valuable possesion?

He felt a shiver pass through him that startled him into looking over his shoulder. A strange feeling of.. Sadness? Pride? Washed over him, and he set the weapon aside with a great deal more care and tenderness then he'd shown that ugly helmet. Still no sign of any key though. His jaw tightened and he dug deeper into the chest, pushing aside small journals and papers, a large amount of silverware surprisingly before his hand brushed something that mae him pause. He gripped the object and pulled it from the deritus it was buried beneath, only to find he'd pulled out another weapon! He wondered why Bilbo would have so many as he pulled at the hilt and released it from its scabbard, only to almost immediately drop it.

Sting. This, this had to be Sting! Bilbo's sword during his adventure, the one he'd fought goblins and spiders and all sorts with. He turned it in the weak light of the hallway, admiring the strange flowing script etched onto its surface. Elvish he reminded himself as he gave it a smal swing amazed at its lightness. He was about to return it to its scabbard when a crash at the front door startled him. He started forward, rushing into the entrance hall with Sting still firmly in his grasp- which elicited a high pitched scream the likes of which he hadn't heard since he placed that toad in Pearl Took's bathtub.

Standing in the doorway, her parasol open and held before her as a shield, stood Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, her face as white as her dress and her face frozen in a rictus of fear. The scream had alerted the others to her entrance, both Sam and Frodo appeared immediatley- Frodo from the depths of the smial and Sam from behind Lobelia, pushing past her only to stop short at the sight of Sting, drawn and apparently readied for attack. Merry flushed and lowered the sharp blade, and they all stood staring at each other in shock, which was soon broken by the unwelcome visitor standing on the mat.

'YOU VILE LITTLE WATER RAT! Attacking me when I merely came to see how dear Bilbo's trip to see the Mayor fared! I'll call the Shiriffs on you, you Brandybuck! I'll see you sent to the lock-holes for such a malicious act, I'll-'

'DO NO SUCH THING.' All four jumped at the deep boom that resonated down the entrance hall. Bofur stood in the doorway, such a thunderous expression on his face as could make a troll turn tale and run. He stepped toward Lobelia, scowl deepening at something behind the parasol. Ripping the offending item from her grasp provided the younger hobbits with an unobstructed view of her open purse, into which had apparently fallen a rather expensive quill and ink set which had previously been sitting on the table in the parlor..

'You'll be leaving now Miss Lobelia. And I'll be hearing no more talk of calling the Shiriff or o' lock-holes around innocent young 'ens. Not when there's a thief stalking around Hobbiton with a fancy for silver.' Lobelia blanched, worse then the fright Merry had given her. She sputtered for a moment before giving a quick nod and moving to the door. Bofur's large hand stopped her, settling heavily on her upper arm. A shaking hand reached into her bag and removed the writing set, putting it on the bench beside the door, before scurrying out and down the sunlit path.

Bofur stood waching her progress down the Row, before tuning to stare hard at the group stood shocked and shaking in the shade of the hall. 'Frodo, you and Sam seemed to be working in the garden. You don't want to be all day, you'd best get to it.' It was a dismissal, resolute and in a tone not even Frodo had heard before. He cast a worried glance at Merry, who couldn't seem to break eye contact with the dwarf, gaze held fast like some sort of spell.

'Come on Sam, rhubarb won't pick itself.' He sounded disappointed, and that hurt worse then anything the dwarf could possibly bring down on Merry as punishment. The two left by the back door, and Bofur turned to push the green front door closed to the world. His movements were stiff, as if he were holding something back, his anger Merry guessed ducking his head. He didn't see the dwarf move toward him, but he didn't startle as the heavy pair of boots filled his vision. The same large hand that had stayed Lobelia's escape grasped Merry's hand, and with a gentleness the lad hadn't been expecting took Sting from his grasp.

'Look at me lad.' Bofur didn't roar or shout like Merry might have expected. He did look up, and was scared at how tired the elder looked. His throat clicked as he swallowed, tight with fear.

'I am so, so sorry. It wasn't what it looked like I. I can explain-' Bofur ignored him, stepping past him and up to the trinkets and papers that Merry had taken from the trunk and left scattered. He pushed Sting back into its leather sheath and placed it back in the trunk. The papers and notebooks followed as did the helmet. Bofur picked the dwarf sword up next, his movements reverential and filled with care. With his other hand he reached for a small pouch attached to his belt, from which he drew a key very much like the one Merry had been seeking.

Bilbo might not have trusted youthful curiosity to remain in check at all times, but of course he would have trusted the love of his life.

The small part of Merry's mind that had grown so obssessed with gaining entry to Bilbo's study slumped in defeat. It wouldn't have mattered when he'd put his plan into action- the locked room would have always had a guard.

But the room was being unlocked now, Bofur stood aside not looking at the boy. This was not a friendly invitation. It was an order, though silently given, to enter. Merry took a deep breath and stepped through the portal. Beyond.. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, treasure perhaps or more magical bits and bobs.

What he found was a study just like a hundred others in the Shire. Messier maybe, but the whole smial was kept in a constant state of chaos- perhaps to stave off the lonliness that Bofur's trips East had instigated and that not even Frodo's prescences could fend off. Though the dwarf had not left the Shire for many a year now. There was a small round window that didn't allow much light to enter, facing north, and black marks above the wall sconces that hadn't been cleaned or painted over leaving Merry to surmise that Bilbo often spent time in here late into the evening. He took all this in in one glance before forcing himself to stand to attention as the dwarf moved through the doorway and pushed the wood shut behind him before settling in the rooms single chair at the desk.

He didn't look or speak for a moment, turning the hilt of the blade over and examing the runes etched upon its surface.

'Do you know who this belonged too Merry?' Bofur looked up at him then, voice gruff and eyes bright, piercing. Merry shook his head, not wanting to answer lest he angered the dwarf. Bofur nodded and surprising Merry with a quick quirking of the corners of his mouth. 'A young prince I once knew. He and his brother were always in trouble as boys. But he grew into a sensible young heir to his people, though he could be cocky with it. And Mahal help anyone when he started conspirin' with his younger brother.' He paused and his hand shook a little as he set the sword on to the surface of the desk. ' I see a lot of him in you. In all of Bilbo's little cousins. Usually the Took side I'm relieved to say.' His smile faded, and he turned to face Merry fully his expression as serious as it had been with Lobelia. 'You're to tell me everything now, lad. And I'll know if you're yanking me chain.' Merry nodded and began.

He told Bofur of what he had seen the previous summer, of the ring. He wasn't surprised to find Bofur knew.

'That isn't what I've been thinking on, and I hope you'll excuse me for I mean no disrespect with these words..' He trailed off unsure how to proceed.

'Seems t' me as if this has been worryin' at yer long enough. We'll sort out what offence was given when ye've finished speaking.' Merry nodded, his nerves so shot with fear that he now had very little left to expend on his words.

'Then, Master Bofur it is my worry that you and Frodo are too close, and to blind to something that is very wrong! Bilbo Baggins was an ordinary hobbit when he left on this grand adventure- I've heard no tales of magic rings or any strange longevity in the family before.. Grandpa never made mention that Old Took himself looked but in his sixities when he passed one-hundred, let alone eleventy-one! This ring, it doesn't just bring about chance invisibilty to the wearer, it is a deliberate device and one that seems to extend life in a most unseemly manner! Please Bofur- I know this sounds mad but I'm afraid of what I saw- and what everyone else seems to see but no-one in Bag End has acknowledged!' Drat it all, Merry couldn't make himself clearer and what he had said had sounded so disrespectful he wouldn't have been surprised if Bofur didn't tan his hide like they would have back home.

He hadn't dared raise his head, had spoken mostly to the floorboards and scraps of paper that littered them. But after the silence had stretched on for so long he chanced a glance.. And it was worse then he'd feared.

Bofur had gone deathly pale, to the point where he pitched forward and Merry reached out to steady him. He sat there, head bowed with Merry's small hand resting against his shoulder. After several long moments he lifted his head, his expression beyond sick or thunderous anger, completely blank. He didn't even seem to register another presence in the room.

He did, however, begin to mutter. The strangely deep, grunting vowels of what must have been dwarvish filled the room before his expression seemed to snap back into the now. He turned to Merry- who backed up into a bookcase, his legs shaking, awaiting castigation, or a beating at best. At worst.. Cousin Bilbo being told and banishment from Bag End. Disownement from the lives of three of the people he was closest too aside from his mother and father. A loss of trust.

He hadn't realised he squeezed his eyes shut until they snapped open with a flinch at the weight settling on his shoulder. Bofur stood before him, his eyes sad but not angry, at least not with Merry.

'And so this knowledge weighed ye down 'til you thought burglary was yer best option. I think you have more in common wi' Bilbo then anyone knows. Ahh lad..' He stopped, his gaze darting around the room, seeking.. Answers? A solution to the problem that Merry could so very clearly see? Merry looked toward the writing desk, where a large red book sat in pride of place. Scraps of paper overflowed from many of the draws and partially obscured it. Merry knew it to be the what he sought, and Bofur had noticed where the lads eye was drawn for he moved to brush the notes off of it gently before opening the cover and flipping through the pages with care.

'I've seen him here, many a night, scratchin' away. Talking to himself about the attack on Erebor, rememberin' details of our quest. Little details like his missin' handkerchiefs, that Gollum creature who threatened t'eat him whole. The dogs and sheep that served us in Beorn's house.. A ring, smooth and cold, warming quickly in the warm fist of my hand. A ring that made you invisible Bilbo? But what else..?' He turned his head partly, profile dark against the weak like of the window. 'I noticed, I noticed the way he didn't age right. I fooled myself into thinking it was Mahal's gift t'me, for years of hardship and toil. Benediction for a life in the service of princes and kings. Instead I'm nowt but an old fool, who's ignorance has but no-more than a wee lad in a terrible postion. I'm so sorry Merry.'

'I have a choice to make now lad,' he continued after a beat, 'a terrible choice all told. I fear it'll break my little family's heart. Damned if you do, damned if y'don't Bifur used to say when I was no more than your age.' Merry thought his throat couldn't have possibly gotten any tighter, but it did and to his embarressment his vision became blurry with it. Bofur grimaced and moved closer again, hands gripping his arms gently. 'There now lad. All that may happen will fall on my shoulders, not yours. I owe you a great debt Meriadoc Brandybuck. I must ask you to keep this to yourself for now, but I know that whatever may happen, whatever I decide, Bilbo and Frodo will be safe in your care.' Merry straightened and nodded sharply. Bofur nodded to himself, and patted the young hobbit on the arm.

'Off wi' ye now lad, Frodo and Sam will be worryin'. And I have some thinkin' to do.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't pretend to have written the greatest piece of fanfiction in the world (that would be ridiculous :)) but to those who showed an interest in this story (thank you!) and apologies for the late update. Real life has been beset with holiday and illness (often at the same time) and more recently bad news.
> 
> I'm hoping there won't be much more to this story, I only intended to fill in the years between Bilbo's return from The Adventure and The Long-expected Party. Which I am coming to next.


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